Clodhoppers rule!
There simply can't be a finer group of people anywhere than the hillbillies and clodhoppers who call the farms and villages of Upstate New York home. From Marla, the Spring Wagon Apple Orchard owner who called me (twice), long distance, to ensure I had enough information to properly order apples, to Nancy, owner of the Pinegrove Inn who promptly mailed me my "More Cluck For The Buck" Wing Night t-shirts, trusting me to pay whenever I had the opportunity. Man, I just love those folks.
Maybe it's the water, maybe its the over-burdensome taxation, brutal weather, or the fact that money and jobs are hard to come by ... I don't really know. I do know that when one of them gives you his or her word, they come through. They make things happen. They have honor. Not all, perhaps - every segment of our society has its bad actors - but most.
Perhaps that is why as the operations manager for a very large, successful Florida wholesale nursery years ago, I made a practice of hiring expatriate Upstaters, all of whom turned out to be my best employees - every single one of them. They earned every red cent we paid them, volunteered for additional travail when they were urgently needed, and showed up for work even when sick (and argued with me when I attempted to send them home to get better).
"Words mean things and at least to Upstaters, your word is everything. It defines you; It is who you are ..."
You know, words mean things and at least to Upstaters, your word is everything. It defines you; It is who you are. Nobody's perfect, everybody errs at one time or another, but as a general rule an Upstater is as straight as a laser level and as true as a plumb bob. In my own personal sphere of dear friends and close acquaintances, there is not one with whom I couldn't trust my life, my family, or possessions. Think about that a moment. Can you honestly state the same? Honestly?
These decent, hard-working, caring, family-oriented country folks, male and female alike, are usually clad in ball caps, denim, flannel, Carharts, and work boots. They drive their trucks until they rust away, work themselves until they literally cause harm to their bodies, will not throw out anything that still has even the remotest use left to it, and are so frugal that they squeak when they walk.
Yet their generosity is simply amazing and their readiness to immediately assist a friend in need is as remarkable as it is touching. Which just goes to show that those old, trite phrases are true: You really can't judge a book by its cover, and all that glitters is not gold.
Yup. I love them Upstate crick-jumpers, pret'near ever one of 'em.